Greeting's From Atlanta
by wbss21
Summary: After escaping an angry troup of circus performers, The Joker decides to take a vaction in Atlanta. Told from first-person perspective and based off of a prose story titled "The Man Who Laughs".


This is based off of a prose story about The Joker titled "The Man Who Laughs", which was published in a book of prose stories called "The Further Adventures of The Joker". To summarize, The Joker is on the run from the police, and he's past over the state line in to Florida with his henchman, Gideon. He ends up killing Gideon and coming upon a traveling circus, where he lands a job as a clown. This is way in the outback of Florida and these people have no idea who The Joker is. He tells them his name is Gwynplain, the lead character from Victor Hugo's "The Man Who Laughs", who The Joker as a character was originally based off of. There are several character's he encounters. Hector, the circus mechanic who takes care of all the rides. He's a former lawyer who lost his wife, kids and job to alcoholism, from which he's recovering, and he views the circus troupe as his only real family. He's suspicious of The Joker from jump, sensing there's something not quite right about him. There's McCoy, who is the owner of the circus and the only other clown in the act. His daughter Diedre, who The Joker has set his sights on, and the Soto brother's, who are the group's trapeze artists. Basically, The Joker causes all kinds of trouble for the troupe, killing their tiger, causing divides, etc… Near the end of the story, when Hectors been sent in to town for supplies by McCoy, The Joker coaxes Didre to go to the top of the Ferris wheel with him, where he proceeds to reveal from a purple sack he's been carrying around several, poisonous creatures. A snake, a scorpion, a vial of acid, etc… Didre's, by now, freaking out, wanting to be let down, realizing she's stuck in a Ferris wheel at the top with a guy who's obviously insane. Of course, there's no way down, and The Joker tells her the only way she's going to escape is to "see if she can fly". Hector comes back though and hears her calling for help and works the wheel's lever to bring them down. Hector and The Joker then get in to a fight, and the rest of the circus troupe has come by then as well. Long story short, they get The Joker in to a disadvantage position, and the story ends with all of them moving in on him. It's a _great_ story and my little summary doesn't do it justice at all. I recommend anyone who is a fan of The Joker to pick up this book. You _won't _be disappointed. Anyway, so I wrote this story as a little continuation of it. It kinda sucks, but what can you do. I hope you like it anyway.

**Greeting's From Atlanta:**

Hector was the first upon me, his strong hands grasping tightly both my shoulders'. The Brazilians came next, one brother taking me around the waste, the other diving and wrapping his arms about my knees. McCoy stood back, fear still keeping him to the spot.

I struggled then to stay upright, but upright I stayed, despite the insistence of the three men that I go down. Only when Diedre leapt from the Ferris wheel, on to my back, was I finally brought to the ground and the brothers Sotto sat upon my legs while Hector leaned his full weight upon my chest, gripping and pinning my arms at the sides of my head.

"Didre, my sweet," I began to laugh, rolling my eyes so that I looked up at the girl, now standing and backing away. "How determinedly you've leant your hand in my capture, though unseemly your actions are. Not entirely as a lady _should_ do."

"Someone, grab that pile of rope outside the tent! McCoy!"

Hector was yelling, the urgency in his voice betraying the calm of his demeanor. He _was _frightened after all. How delicious! A lawyer, of course! He _would_ be practiced in the art of deception.

"Oh, r-right." McCoy stuttered as though snapped from some trance, and I watched him scurry off in the direction Hector had sent him.

"Rope will not keep me, Sir." I informed, but went ignored, and soon the little man returned, rope in hand. Readily, they bound me, hands behind my back, ankles together, than stood about, conversing on what should be done.

One of the Brazilian boys suggested I summarily be put to death, my body dumped in the surrounding marsh. He obviously had surmised me the culprit behind his tiger's demise and bitter revenge tinged his words.

"A splendid course of action!" I interjected.

"No, no." Hector shook his head. "We don't know who he is. People might be looking for him, and we don't want to implicate ourselves in anything illegal."

"Then what Hector!? He tried to kill me!" Didre's voice rose in anxiety.

"We'll call the cops. Keep him here 'till they arrive. We'll explain what happened and they'll take him."

"Soto's suggestion is most wise Hector."

"Be quiet!" The mechanic turned to me. His eyes were vicious.

I shrugged, turning away.

"But who'll watch him. We can't leave him alone." McCoy questioned.

"I will. The rest of you stay in the trailer until the cops get here."

"Hector, the valiant!" I laughed.

My continuous interruptions gave them pause, and the group of them eyed me warily.

I grinned at them with innocent eyes.

"Take Didre to the trailer. All of you go with her." Hector pointed at the Brazilians and McCoy. "Call the police when you get there."

The lot milled about for some seconds, looking uncertain of themselves and of Hectors directions. They now had become all too aware, at least partially so, of the danger I presented. Though, their ignorance as to my identity, something which rarely I came across, precluded any chance they might realize fully the extremity of the threat which sat among them.

But at last they obeyed the orders of their impromptu leader and made way for McCoy's trailer. Hesitant they were, but fear and confusion can drive a person to follow any who is the first to assert them selves as a figure of authority. They feel it to give them, in the least, some sense of stability… and hope. Heh.

Hector watched them as they covered the distance to the mobile home, and I watched Hector. Foolish he was indeed, not to listen to the Soto boy. But not knowing me as I am known in the more densely populated places of the world, as well as his former occupation as lawyer, Hector more feared the law than he feared me.

Ah, c'est la vie, I gave him warning, ample enough, did I not? One may not accuse me of inequity.

As it happened, as I always do, I had concealed within my jacket sleeve a razor edged playing card, and I had managed to loosen the thing in to my open palm, and so had already begun to cut deeply in to the rope binding my wrists.

Hector, in spite of his suspicion, remained unaware of my action, and when at last he had brought his focus back upon me, already I was half way through the restraint.

To drive him to distraction, I spoke.

"Right you are Hector, right you are! Indeed, I _am_ a wanted man! Perchance, it was in flight from those who would have me imprisoned that I happened upon your traveling troupe. A fortuitous turn of circumstance, would you not agree?"

Hector said nothing, and I continued to cut, and talk.

"You recall my surprise, yes? When first we met, and you showed for me no sign of recognition? The bemusement was genuine, you see, for I am a man of great reputation, whose name is widely known, and whose doings merit, justifiably, such acknowledgement, striking terror in the hearts of those whose minds should turn towards me. I am a frightening individual Hector, frightening! Indeed, I would frighten myself if of such an emotion I was capable!"

The mechanic looked to me with narrowing eyes, as though the act of his focus would squeeze from it my identity. But if he did not before know, he would not then either, of that I was certain.

His tongue rolled in his mouth, and I could see his mind working, trying desperately to glean my person, or if, in fact, he had seen my countenance some place before. And he turned then, gazing back towards the trailer, his unsettlement growing apparent.

"Would you like me to tell you of myself Hector? Certainly, my name is not Gwynplain, but of that I feel sure you already have worked out."

He turned back to me, his eyes widening only the slightest bit, the change in expression barely perceptible, and I could see he had spotted the movement of my shoulders. Too late it was though, as already I could feel the sharpened edges digging in to the flesh of my wrists, and more to the point, I had wanted him aware of my attempt at escape, for it only would work if he came near to me. I continued to smile.

"Stop that there." He said, coming at me.

"Stop what Hector?" I asked innocently, scooting away as though in fear of his discovery.

"There!" He said again, pointing at me, his tone more urgent, and still I shoved away, feigning dismay in my expression.

"No, no Hector!" My own voice frantic. "I know not of what you speak!"

This drove the mechanic quicker towards me, his hands outreached to hold me fast. And above me, as he bent down, ready to take me again in his grasp, the last of the ropes thread snapped and quick as lightening, I swung my arm in an arc, the edge of the card positioned as a blade in my hand.

I watched as Hector stumbled backward, his hands coming up to his throat, his eyes wide with shock, and I paused only briefly to survey this before taking the card and cutting quickly the rope from my ankles.

As I did this, I spoke.

"As already I informed Hector, it was in evading the police that I came upon the humble shelter of Howard McCoy's traveling circus. Most propitious, it must be confessed, for my car had run out of gas somewhere along the interstate, and having thrown Gideon from a bridge, I found myself on my own, and sadly without assistance. Oh, how silly of me, to assume you should have knowledge of the dearly departed to whom I refer. I never did speak to you of him, did I? Well, in any event, Gideon was my driver, but more importantly, quite adept in the acquisition of whatever vehicle would, at that time or another, be our provided method of transport. But poor Gideon with born with the most heinous of deficiencies. Lacking was he, most utterly, in a sense of humor! Now Hector, I ask you, in all honesty, how is one ever supposed to find their way in this wretched world without the ability to laugh!? To laugh at the absurdity of human kind and the great joke that is life!? The very notion to me seems implausible! But lest I digress, let me move on. I simply no longer could bear Gideon's presence. You understand. Such solemnity perturbs me, to great distraction it does! And so I tossed him from the bridge on which we had stopped. A happier man for it, I'm certain he was. For a man so miserable in life, surely in death should be more content! Perhaps, for you, it shall be the same? Since with Gideon you seem to share so similar a disposition."

Hector by then had fallen to his knees; the slash across his throat opened widely, blood beginning to pour from the wound like a great waterfall of crimson. I pulled the rope from my legs and stood, walking towards his hunched and gurgling figure.

"But why then, you ask, was I fleeing from enforcers of man's governing laws, and who might I be that I would prompt from them chase over one state line, and then another, and another, and even still one more? Aye, indeed, I hail from the city of Gotham, four states up, to the North. Infamous am I there, and in all states spanning the great breadth of this nation. And beyond that still, in other countries, my name is known, my exploits spoken of in hushed tones, used, doubtless, as a means to keeping children misbehaving in tow. I am a dangerous man Hector, very, _very _dangerous. Have you not yet figured my person Hector? A former lawyer, I should think, would be quite familiar with who I am."

I bent down now to look him in the face. His skin was fast becoming near pale as my own, his eyes now half-lidded as the energy went from his body.

"If not, I shall say it then, simply. I am The Joker. Do you know me now?"

The weak widening of his eyes told me, indeed, he did. And I laughed, standing then to my full height.

"But how rude, to take leave of this place without informing the other's of my departure. I must pay to them one last visit."

At this, Hector somehow willed himself the strength to lunge for me, a desperate whine coming from his lips. And pathetic his attempt was, as his grasp fell short several feet and he went to his face, groaning.

I laughed.

"Bother not, Hector. Within the minute, you will have bled out. There is nothing to be done, either for your family or yourself. But in the few, remaining moments of life you've left in this world, take solace in knowing your end was met at the hands of the greatest purveyor of criminality in this, and most probably, any century past. Not everyone is so blessed to avoid in their demise insipidity. Though, for the occasion of this particular situation, you have only yourself to blame. Was it not I who told you the Soto boy, with his contribution, had made a most wise suggestion? But you would not listen Hector, no. You allowed for fear to dictate your actions. And fear of a thing much lesser a threat then I. A grievous blunder, indeed. For when a mistake is made in dealing with one such as myself, most usually the mistake is irrevocable, most generally, it will be your last."

I looked concentrated at Hector for what seemed a long moment. By then, he no longer moved, his gurgles and gasps ceased, and I felt quite certain he had died.

I moved then to recover my purple sack, which laid along side the Ferris wheel's operating lever, and took to gathering its removed contents. My scorpion, of course, was dead, and though I searched some minutes for the snake, that too had vanished. I laughed. Better, I thought, to have it wondering about. More chance of someone falling victim to its bite.

I stumbled then over some object, and looking down, saw Hectors wrench. I smiled and took the thing up, fingering it for a moment before also placing it in my bag. I could find some use for it later, I knew.

I glanced across the lot to McCoy's trailer. The air was humid, the night alive with the sound of crickets and somewhere a loon calling in the distance. It was going to rain. I didn't care. It either would work or not, but still, it would be great fun. I reached in to the sack, pulling from it a bottle of kerosene, examining it only briefly before making my way to the mobile. No windows adorned the thing, and the occupants remained blissfully unaware of what had transpired between Hector and myself. I giggled picturing them all, huddled together, thinking me still bound, Hector vigilant in his watch, protecting them.

I flipped the cap, dancing about the trailer, splashing the liquid along its sides and the ground around it. Of course, the door would have to be blocked to prevent their escape, and so I felt most fortunate in spotting a pile of wood planks, perhaps four feet in length, nearly a foot in width, near to where I stood. I took one of them up, and proceeded to jam the thing under the mobile's door handle, the other end digging at an extreme angle in to the dirt. The thudding noise naturally caused some commotion within, eliciting loud and panicked enquiry as to the sound's source. I did not wait then to light a match, from a book retrieved from out my breast pocket, throwing it to the ground, and almost in that instant, the flames spread to a fully surrounding circle, building upward by the second, licking the air and the trailer's side walls, creating an orange glow reminiscent of the setting sun. Within, perhaps, 45 seconds, they would become cognizant of the encroaching heat, and the scent of smoke.

I desired greatly to stay and listen and observe the soon to follow panic, the ensuing chaos, but by then, the police were well on their way, though I knew the area's remote location would buy me some minutes. Still, I thought it best to take my leave, and so I turned, walking away from the engulfed vehicle.

Fifty yards from the thing, I began to hear the screams, and succeeding bangs against the door, and I smiled, my mind going to Diedre, thinking how her lovely face was soon to be disfigured, beyond recognition, her faultless skin melted in to nothing by the flames. The beauty of my imaginings then could be surpassed only to witness it first hand.

I still could hear their cries when at last I'd reached the woods, and my delight had turned to hysterics as I pushed through the brush and sticks. Even with the slight drizzle which had then begun, their demise was now certain. It was splendid! Magnificent! A downpour could not save them.

Soon I came upon the abandoned car I'd left hidden in the foliage some weeks before, and so quickly found my way to the road, not 15 feet ahead. And shortly thereafter, the drizzle turned to heavy rain, and for hours I must have walked in it, along the desolate highway. But I did not mind. Rather I quite enjoyed the feel of the cold, hard wet against my face, how it soaked my cloths through, to the skin beneath. And when at the last the storm subsided, still I continued to walk.

The evening had turned by then to early morning, though the sun would not rise for some hours, and the Floridian wildlife created a chorus of varied and differing sounds, disrupting the stillness of the night. It was one of those isolated stretches of blacktop, surrounded by nothing but swamp and other such tropical growth. No street lamps lined the road, and so the way ahead was nearly blind to me, save for the aid of the moon's light, which came only after the clouds had dispersed. One hardly could see beyond their hand before their face, and I thought how such an environment was suited to me, how I might relish in it, were I to come across another soul.

And another soul I did happen upon, at most an hour before sun rise. They drove towards me, and I heard them before I saw them, their car headlights appearing as two eyes of white in the dark. I gauged them to be perhaps two hundred yards from me, and I readied myself to act the part of stranded hitchhiker, jogging to the other side of the road, turning to look as though headed in the direction from which I came, waving to them as they went past. An easy wave, nothing frantic or desperate in appearance. A casual gesture. Body language is most important in gaining another's trust. People will make great assumptions on your character based solely on how you might carry yourself. If, as example, your posture is hunched, your gate unwieldy and free of grace, your arms swung in a wide, uninhibited motion, they will judge you to be brutish and unsophisticated, unintelligent and crude. This is the average person's assessment. And the average person, of course, has no eye for subtleties and what they may reveal. Indeed, you can determine much about any man, woman or child based on their movement, based as well on how they may dress, how they may speak, their eating habits, and so on. But where most fail in this endeavor, is in associating what they see with what they've been taught relates directly to it, with imagery and preconceived notions, making A to B connects. Yes, most people are simplistic in this way. They consider never to look beyond the surface. What a person appears as will tell you nothing, but what caused said person to appear as they do may very well tell you everything. Of course, one must be capable of seeing beyond immediate impressions to accomplish this, and so very few are able to prevent what they perceive from triggering some pre-established idea of what it is or means, to preclude from their view personal bias or experience, and to instead view what is around them with a pure eye. They do not understand psychology, how the mind works. But I do. I most certainly do.

And as I knew they would, seeing my still drenched, but dignified form, signaling to them in an almost hopeless fashion, as though I'd been past without help many times before, they stopped, thirty feet ahead of me.

I pulled my hat down over my face, though doubtless I was the dark would provide adequate cover, and jogged towards them.

Opening the passenger side door, I again tilted by hat to hang low over the side of my face before taking my seat inside.

"Mornin' stranger." The man greeted me with a heavy, southern accent.

"Good morning." I answered, looking straight ahead.

"You look just 'bout soaked to the bone." He noted my not yet dried appearance. "How long you been out there?"

"Oh, long enough." I told him. "The old girl gave up the ghost, some fifteen miles back, and I've been walking on for the better part of six hours."

"Ohhwee, you must be plumb tired!?"

"Indeed, I am."

"Well where you headin' stranger?"

His accent told me he came from Georgia, and I smiled. Atlanta seemed a good spot for me, until I was again ready to make my glorious return to Gotham.

"Atlanta." I said. "I was on my way from business in Orange County when the car's engine just sputtered out."

"Well ain't that convenient!?" The man became excited. "I was headin' there myself!"

"Oh!?" I feigned surprise. "How very advantageous!"

I had not yet looked at him, though he looked at me, and I knew soon he would grow suspicious. And so at last I turned, smiling, to his face.

He starred back with an expression which said he should know the person he looked back at, yet somehow couldn't quite recall them. But this look lasted only seconds, and as realization struck, terror took over his features, his eyes wide with fright.

I began to laugh as he moved and fumbled with the door handle, his nerves keeping him for several seconds from realizing the lock to be in place, and that was, for me, more then adequate time.

I reached across, taking hold of his collar, and my how he suddenly exploded! Beginning to kick and scream and thrash about! A few times his flailing hands struck my face, and I laughed harder still.

"Yes, most convenient you _were _headed towards Atlanta, my dear." I whispered in his ear as I took hold of his head. A moment later and I twisted it hard to the left, and I heard the loud crack, and he became limp in my hands, and quiet.

I pushed him then to the back seat and took up behind the wheel. The sky had already begun to fade to a lighter hue; the sun would soon be up, and with my most recent exploits, those enforcers surely would be in search. And so I drove the thing in to the brush, as I had done weeks before with the car Gideon had stolen. Ha! Gideon would be proud, how easily I had acquired transport!

What's more, I was tired, having not rested since two nights before, and to stay alert, I would require some sleep, perhaps 3, maybe 4 hours at most. The rest would call for patience, waiting again until the sun disappeared behind the horizon. And patience, for me, had never demanded effort.

When finally I awoke, the morning was late and the heat heavy. I passed the day by talking and demonstrating card tricks to Edward. That's what his driver's license said his name was. He wasn't very receptive, but one cannot please the world, you understand.

And when the sky began to grow dark, I hauled Edward out in to the thick shrubbery.

"Now be a good boy Edward, dear." I said, patting him on the cheek. "And do try becoming a zombie! Oh, such wonderful zombie's hicks make! And what great fun, if you were to wonder in to the road and cause some dreadful accident!"

I laughed and stood. From there I would begin my journey back over the Florida state line, stopping several times to refuel my car. The attendants seemed addled by my payments, but honestly, I cannot think of why. Truly, no one likes a petty thief, and certainly, I wouldn't allow myself ever to stoop to such a level. I became perturbed by the third such attendant showing surprise. After working so tirelessly to ensure each performance I give is of the highest quality, for them not to understand why stealing gas would be far too mundane an undertaking was nothing less then infuriating. And so I did find a use for Hectors wrench then, and beat the boy behind to counter to death with it. Served him right, the ignoramus!

I was in Atlanta while it still was dark, and I dumped the vehicle in a remote backdoor ally before making my way to some abandoned factory building near the heart of downtown. Those things seemed abundant in nearly every, large metropolis.

And there I stayed, for several, long weeks, biding my time I suppose, tinkering with a set of chemicals I'd acquired from a make-up research facility, testing their reactions to one another. I came up with some rather fascinating results. But quickly I was growing bored with the place. Sitting about, largely inactive, had never been my style.

And so I decided then to take to the streets, to see what amusement might present itself to me. All cities essentially were the same. Had the same types of people, all bearing the familiar grind of daily life as dictated by society and the inevitable troubles spawned from it. Certainly, in certain places, one element may have been more extreme in nature then another, but when you stripped it right down to the basics, either or could be mistaken for the other. And as could only logically be concluded, the same opportunities for mischief would arise as in my dear, sweet Gotham, save of course, an encounter with _him_. But that could wait, most certainly.

What could I do, I pondered, in this great, bustling metropolis, what could I do? There were so many things, so many chances for fun. Killing proved always a delightful experience, and certainly, there was no shortage of paltry persons suited well to the activity. But that night, my desire had something more subtle in mind, something to offer more of a challenge.

And as luck would have it, whilst strolling along that desolate back street, behind a Whole Foods Market, I really do despise those things, the endless stream of pathetic, mindless drowns milling about, believing in their great ignorance that healthy living somehow equates to long life, I spotted across the way a young woman, her arms fully occupied with two bags of groceries, her attention drawn to retrieving, doubtless, car keys from her purse.

Quickly, though not directly so as to avoid her detecting my approach, I made way across the street, silently picking up pace behind her. She remained ignorant to my presence until she had reached her transport and I saw fit to announce myself.

"Excuse me?" I spoke softly but clearly.

She screamed, though not loudly, dropping her bags to the ground.

"Ah, do forgive me." I said, bending to gather her things. She stood, starring down at me. I could hear her heavy breathing.

"Oh, no. I'm sorry. It's just, you startled me!" She spoke. Her voice matched her appearance. Young and sweet, and innocent.

I grinned, still returning the scattered contents to the bags.

"The fault is mine dear." I placed the last item back. "Do accept my apology?"

"Yes, of course!" She said. "But really, there's no…"

I stood then, holding her belongings out, looking down at her at once terrified eyes.

"Y-y-you're…"

"Oh, how very uncouth. Allow me to introduce myself, though in the very least my name has once crossed your path." I removed my hat and swept it out, my other arm placed along my abdomen. I bowed. "I am The Joker, and most pleased to make your acquaintance. May I be so presumptuous as to ask your name?"

She starred up at me, her eyes huge as saucers, quivering and bright, her fear clearly having robbed her of the ability to speak.

"Fear not my love. I intend not to harm you."

"P-please…" She practically gasped, her voice thin and airy. She scarcely could move. I could easily have taken her life.

I stepped back and smiled sweetly, placing the bags to the ground, then standing and letting my arms hang loosely, unthreateningly along my sides.

"Ah, my reputation precedes me, I see." I assumed a dejected stance, twisting my face to a frown. "How I wish it did not."

I followed the movement of her throat as she swallowed, thinking how lovely it might feel to hold a cold, hard blade against it, and I then brought my eyes back to her own.

"Oh G-god…" She stammered.

I shook my head.

"Please, do not be afraid." I said softly, then sighed, the sound one of resignation.

I saw her eyes dart quickly towards her car, and I knew she was attempting to assess her chances of escaping to it.

It was early in the evening, 5:30 at the latest, I would have ventured, judging by the sky's brightness, though I never was one to pay much attention to time. She was young, early to mid 20s, with tied back, medium length sandy colored hair, very pretty with bright green eyes, not unlike my own, and smooth skin, wearing an expensive short sleeved, form fitting cashmere top and cotton khaki pants. She was pregnant, though just barely. It was doubtful anyone outside herself and perhaps close relatives knew. But I could see it. And going by the reason for her outing, grocery shopping, how deplorably responsible it was, for one so young as her, I gathered her to be involved in somewhat of a stable situation, either a boyfriend or a husband. Glancing at her car, a mid-sized Cadillac sedan, new, I wagered husband. Newlyweds, no doubt. Probably within the last year. The mundane predictability of it all caused me nearly to gag in disgust.

"Please," I began, "I understand if your time is required elsewhere. I wished only to make known the admiration I hold for your beauty. I saw you while walking and found myself struck dumb by your striking appearance."

I saw confusion in her eyes, and then, there it was, the slightest hint of a smile. Charm had always been one of my finer, more useful traits.

Though that hardly would be enough to ensnare this ripe blossom. She knew who I was, and that indeed was a hurdle to be overcome.

"A-a-are you going t-to kill m-me?" She stuttered.

I took on an expression of hurt.

"Heavens, no!" I exclaimed. "Why should I want to do such a thing?"

"Y-you kill people. You're a m-m-murderer."

I frowned.

"I can account not for past sins, only to say, I was not of healthy mind when I committed acts of so heinous and barbaric a nature. But I am cured of such disease now. After many years of rehabilitative treatment, I've at last been declared sane and fit to reenter society as a productive and abiding citizen of The United States of America."

I guessed she wasn't the sort to pay real attention to the news, local or otherwise. Too young yet to think the rest of the world mattered.

"R-really?" She stammered.

Right. As usual.

"Yes my dear. Not four months ago, I stepped from Arkham a free man. The only time I ever have. I've relocated to Atlanta, hoping to start anew."

She looked at me with skeptical eyes, but her breathing had slowed. Still nervous, but by half not as much as she had been.

"Y-you moved here?

I nodded. "I did."

She momentarily was at a loss of what to say next, and so I took the opportunity to add a note of sympathetic appeal.

"I had hoped it might be possible that I start my life over, put my dreadful past to rest and become a new man. I had hoped for that very much. But, and I know I have only myself to blame for the circumstances I find myself in, as I said, I am preceded by my reputation, and though I am more then willing to start on the lowest rung of the latter, alas, no one will have me. I even…" and for affect I laughed with a tone of bitter self-loathing, "I even applied as dish washer for a run down little joint nestled in the heart of downtown. Perhaps you know the place? José's?"

She shook her head slowly.

"Ah, of course, you would not. Clearly, your class is far too much for such a place." I smiled. "But even there, I found myself turned away. I am an undesirable." I made sure to frown, casting my eyes downward in a dramatic act of humility. "But I know, of course, the fault lies only with me. Responsibility for my actions can be given to no one else. And I do not wish it to be. Still… I am not the man I was… if you can call what I was a man." I allowed my voice to grow ever softer, and to crack with emotion.

I looked up at her then, her eyes filled with curiosity.

"I wish only for the world to know that. And if not the world, if that is too much to ask, then a person. Anyone. I wish them to know I am changed, utterly so…" Again I cast my eyes to the ground. "But it is very difficult when so few, nay, in my case, none are willing to lend an ear and hear me out, to judge me without prejudice. I fear less for my means of living then I do the painful likelihood of my forever being alone."

And then I fell silent, as if lost in sadness. Really, I was calculating how long I should remain like that before moving to seal the deal. It would be only seconds, and then I looked up, and there I saw it, that flicker of compassion and pain. And I knew I had her.

"Oh, but listen to me ramble on in unjustified complaint. I am so very clumsy in my manner. I've taken much too much of your time as is, and you've undoubtedly a charming and handsome husband awaiting your arrival back home." No protest. Indeed, she was married. Oh! But a slight frown at the mention! An unhappy union then. Perhaps the pregnancy had been accidental, and it had forced the consummation of their marriage. Yes. That was likely the circumstance. He probably was older then her too. Well to do, in fact, again judging by her mode of transport and designer clothing. Oh, ho ho! The tricky little thing she was! She must have ensnared the poor fool for his money. Gotten "accidentally" knocked up and forced him to marry her. And he doubtless felt he'd landed a coup, ending up with a fine little number such as her self! But she'd had to break up a marriage to snag him; maybe he'd even had children. Her frown! Of course. She was ridden with guilt. She is malicious, but believes it when she's told she's wrong to be. And she hates him. Because he treats her as a queen, likely gloms over her as if he were some dog who's only goal in life is to please its master. She hates him for reminding her of how vicious she truly is. I smiled.

"I am certain you rather would be by his side then here, your only company this dreary, old clown. Likely, he would be concerned by your having not yet returned. I should not want to hold your time any further."

She blinked, and looked suddenly very disappointed. I had been right. I knew it from her expression. I moved then to take her hand in mine, and though she flinched at my touch, she did not pull away or scream, here eyes frozen to my own.

"I'm sorry my dear, your name seems to have slipped my mind?"

"I-I don't think I told you." She answered.

"Oh?" I said. "Do forgive me?"

"S-Sherry." She stammered. "My name's Sherry."

I smiled brightly.

"Sherry!" I beamed. "A lovely name for an even lovelier lady. Your beauty is surpassed only by your kindness. I shall be on my way and stop intruding upon you. But let me say thank you, for allowing me to go on as I did. The short period of your presence in my life has been pure jubilation. A spot of sunshine I can call upon in an existence which has had so very few."

And then I bent, and kissed her hand. And she looked at me in astonishment, I knew, as I went to lift her groceries.

"I bid you ado fair lady." I said, backing away, again taking a bow. And then I turned, and walked away.

She did not see me slip my card in to her bag, containing my number. Such is the advantage of the master magicians hand over the human eye.

And not a week and a half later, as I had anticipated she would, she called. I had to laugh. My charm is rare to fail me.

"Hello?" I answered in a sing song voice.

Silence came from the line.

"Hello?" I asked again, as friendly as before.

"H-hello?" At last she answered. Her voice was meek.

"Yes?" I said.

"Th-this is… this is Sh-Sherry."

"Sherry!" I greeted with excitement. "You called?!"

I made sure to sound surprised.

Again the line went silent, but then she cleared her throat and began.

"I'm… I'm not even sure why I'm calling…" She trailed off.

"I think I know." I said softly.

"Somehow I doubt that…" She mumbled. She was unsure of herself.

"Allow me the chance?"

She said nothing, so I continued.

""You are woefully discontent, and you feel trapped. What age are you dear? 23? 24? Incredibly young. Too young to be mothering a child, by far."

I heard her audible gasp on the other end.

"H-how did you…"

"You're showing darling, if only slightly."

"O-oh…"

I went on.

"And consummation of a legal union for no purpose beyond responsibility, not love, that must be most miserable a position indeed."

"I…" She began, but hesitated.

"No shame in that sweetheart. One so young can scarcely be held accountable. That husband of yours should have known better."

"My… my husband? But…"

"He is older then you, is he not?"

"He… he is. But…"

"How did I know? Call it a lucky a guess!"

I sighed deeply.

"He prooobably accosts you with feelings of guilt, am I right cupcake?"

She cleared her throat nervously.

"H-how…"

I knew I was right, without her having said anything. Her bouts of stunned silence and nervous stuttering were affirmation enough. And I pressed on.

"And let me guess how he does so. Doubtless in acting towards you sugary sweet. A clever trick, indeed. Playing dumb and saccharin, he's manipulated you dear, in to blaming yourself for the destruction of his previous marriage."

Of course, there was no trick on his part. Any man stupid enough to leave the comfort of a woman, a woman who loved him, no doubt, for a greedy little bitch such the one I now spoke to, surely would lack the mental faculties to play mind games of _any _sort.

But I had to play to what the girl _wanted _to hear, you understand. If I was to gain her trust.

"But honey, you mustn't allow yourself to feel that way. The fault lies with him. The decision ultimately was his own."

I was painfully good at this. I had to will myself to not laugh.

"How… how could you know these things…" Her voice trembled. She was crying. I had to bite my lip to keep from exploding in hysterics.

"Oh Sherry, doll, I simply know."

From then on, her calls grew more frequent, more urgent. And with each new conversation, she revealed more and more to me, both purposefully and without intent, her unhappiness in her marriage and how secretly she loathed her husband. She began to look upon me as her confidant, a trusted adviser and her attacks on him became ever more hateful and vicious as the weeks wore on.

Of course, I might have had a hand in her burgeoning abhorrence. I had managed to convince her of his deceit and cruel nature, that her life with him was a waste, that the security offered by his money was nothing more then an illusion covering the bleak reality of her misery.

Until one day, after hours or pushing and prodding her to it, she announced to me she was leaving "Daniel".

"Oh, darling." I said, "You've finally made the step?"

"I have. I'm no longer going to be a… a slave to that man's money and power!" She answered defiantly.

I smiled, stifling a giggle.

"Of course, you've thought this through thoroughly, I'm sure?"

"Yes. I have. I've already had the divorce papers drawn up, and when he gets back from work, that's when I'm going to hand it to him."

She sounded so confident.

"Oh, and when does he arrive back?" I asked, fingering the buttons of the tracing machine.

"Around six. He deserves it." She said.

My grin grew wider.

"Indeed." I said. "I presume you've made certain of your own future?"

She laughed. A cruel laugh. Heh.

"Of course! By the time my lawyers get through with him, I'll own half of everything he's got!"

"That's my girl." I said smoothly, glancing at the time piece of the microwave.

"Listen doll, I've got to run. But I want you to tell me all of the gory details when next we speak, mmkay?"

Again she laughed, a sort of giddy laugh this time.

"Will do." She said.

"Until next time, my love. Tootles!"

I hung up, glancing down at the display along the tracer's screen.

18th and Grove, 7286. I memorized the address.

"Sherry my sweet, I come for you. I come!"

And then I laughed, and so delirious was I with anticipation and excitement, I scarcely was able to make it to my feet, teetering along the desk, doubled over in merriment, until I reached for my hat and cane, taking up a long cord of rope as I skipped out the door and up the steps of the abandoned factory I'd taken up residence in those last, few weeks.

I sang to myself a happy tune as I ascended the steps to Sherry's front porch, and when she opened the door, the shock was quite evident upon her face.

"J-Joker, why are you…"

"Later, my dear." I said, placing a hand over her face and pushing her back inside.

I stepped in after her, slamming the door behind me and locking it.

The wretch had fallen to the floor from the shove I had given and when I turned back around, she was starring at me, wide eyed and very much afraid.

"W-what are you…. W-what are d-doing?" She stammered.

I smiled, twirling my cane in one hand and taking the rope I had swung over my shoulder in the other.

"I've come to collect payment darling!" I grinned, stepping towards her. "For services rendered… The Joker's advice doesn't come cheap. You understand, I'm sure."

"W-what are you talking about?!" She began to crawl backward, away from me.

I assumed an expression of vexation.

"Why, all those many phone calls, they were placed by you, were they not?"

She starred back, mute.

I continued.

"My phone charges have been dreadful this last month. Simply through the roof!" I gestured upward to make my point. "What's more dumpling, my time is valuable. I can't afford simply to… _give it away_. You see?" I fluttered my hands forward.

"H-how much do you w-want?"

I threw my head back and laughed.

"Oh no, cupcake, it's not money I'm after." I winked, reaching to my inside pocket and pulling out a roll of hundreds. Of that I have plenty, and no pleasure it brings me." I pitched the wad her way, hitting her forehead.

She yelped, reaching for the spot it had struck.

I giggled.

"Well, it has its uses I suppose."

"No, my sweet, I had something a little more… personal in mind." I grinned, taking another step in her direction.

She sensed fully then my malicious intent, her face draining of color, and she began to scream.

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" Her voice shattered the calm of the place as she scrambled backward, attempting to rise to her feet.

Her legs wobbled, weakened by fear, and I laughed.

"Now Sherry, we _are _in a _gated_ community. You wouldn't want to disturb the neighbors with all of that awful racket, would you?"

She began to scream for help, ignoring my question and turning to run away.

"HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME, PLEASE!"

I sighed.

They never listen.

I stepped towards her quickly, reaching out and taking her by the hair, yanking her back towards me. She struggled about and thrashed violently, of course, but I held her tight, pressing my mouth against her ear, my forearm tight along her throat.

"Hush …" I breathed in a whisper. "I want only a little something from you."

And I then spun her around, punching her in the face, and she fell unconscious to the floor.

Not ten minutes later she awoke. By then of course, I'd bound her to one of the homes well crafted dinning room chairs, her arms behind her back, her feet to the seats legs. She moaned, her head lolling backward, and it would take some moments before her mind cleared, along with her vision. When it did, I greeted her.

"Well hello there!" I smiled, waving. "That' quite the nasty black eye you've there." I feigned concern.

She starred back at me for several, long seconds, remaining incomprehensive to her situation. But then the confusion past and her eyes shot wide, and she opened her mouth to scream. But no sound came, and as she soon realized she could not speak, her fear turned to all out panic and she began to strain and struggle against the ropes.

I giggled, holding up a syringe.

"A little concoction I've worked up honey-pie." I smiled. "Scrambles certain synapses of the brain, the ones to control speech. I think it's safe to call the chemical a success, don't you think?"

She struggled more, trying desperately still to scream.

I shrugged, placing the syringe down.

"My brilliance, as usual, goes unheralded."

"You know Sherry, darling," I began, my back to her. "I've put a great deal of thought in to this. In to how you best might reward the hours I've spent listening to you drone on and on, about your meager, meaningless troubles, your paltry, mundane unhappiness, your vapid, _vacuous_ existence. Of course, the blame is not entirely your own. Certainly, I may have encouraged your participation, to an extent." I could hear the chair rocking; she struggled so violently against it. "But one desires _variety_ in entertainment. You understand? I thought, to kill you should suffice, but having indulged already in such activity, in the days leading to our meeting, by then I'd concluded something fresh to be in order. And it must be confessed, drawing you in as I did, I did have quite some fun. But…" I sighed. "It also was demanding of patience and, frankly, your self-pity and supplications to be seen as victim grew tiresome after a time, mind-numbingly boring, in fact. The way you used even the slightest hint of sympathetic regard to portray yourself in such light was, to put it in plain terms, highly grotesque. The delusional self-denial of your wicked and selfish nature brought me nearly to a state of nausea. But I digress. Your husband is a sorry sort. In his foolery, he deserves nothing less then the likes of you. Still…"

I turned around then, holding in my right hand a pairing knife I'd found in the kitchen.

"It was not he who cozened for financial gain, nor was it he to beguile a woman from her husband and three children. No my dear, that was all you." I stepped towards her, and her eyes grew wide, her brows knitted in worry. "I would quite admire your handy work, if not for your enthusiasm in denying it as your own."

I bent now so that I was eye level with the girl. She had begun to cry, tears streaming down her reddening face, faint gasps escaping from her throat.

"Shh, shh." I smiled, wiping the tears with my thumb. "It serves no purpose to cry." I starred at her for some seconds, her pupils darting frantically about the room.

Finally I stood, breathing out heavily through my nose.

"Well, _because_ of the deep shame you most apparently feel for the things you've done, and because obviously you lack proper appreciation for the natural gifts you've been given, I've decided, as payment to me, it seems only fair that I should take from you the one asset which, to begin with, allowed you… all of this."

I spread my arms and twirled around before turning back and taking her face violently in my grasp, forcing her eyes to my own.

"I'm going to carve that pretty little face of yours right from your skull." I whispered.

Her entire body began to tremble and she struggled wildly, nearly tipping her chair to the ground. But I tightened the grip I had along her jaw and bending down, I backhanded her across the temple, which seemed to work well in dampening her protests.

"There, there Sherry, sweetheart, it's for the best, really." I knelt, pressing the cold metal of the knife hard against her cheek. "I'm saving you unwanted grief. Once I'm through, you needn't concern yourself with seducing a man ever again. Third degree burn victims likely will find you repulsive!"

She began to tear profusely and I positively erupted in to laughter at the sight. And then I turned to knife on its edge and dug deep in to the flesh of her forehead, to the muscle below. She desperately tried to scream, fighting to turn her face left to right. But I held her fast, dragging the curved blade in a deep line along the contours of her visage. The blood came quickly and in large quantities, seeping out on to my hands as I worked.

"The first tiiimme… ever I saaaaaaw your faaaaaaaaaace… the earth moo-ooved through my han-haa-aands…" I sang to her. I thought perhaps it might relieve some tension, but she seemed only to lash about more. I shrugged. Well, you can't be right about _everything_!

By the time I'd begun the incision along the jaw line, she'd fallen in to a state of shock and ceased to fight against it. That was a tad disappointing, but I continued on, dutiful as ever.

And then I finished, drawing the blade up along the left side of her face, making four, connected ribbons of flowing red. I leaned back, admiring the neatness of the cuts for a moment, smiling. I _was_ good with a knife. And then I dug my fingers between the wounds and, firming my grip, peeled the thing downwards. It rolled off with the ease of a cool, summer's breeze and I laughed at the funny, sticking sound it made.

"Look Sherry, sweetness!" I held up the sack of flesh which had been her face. "Like looking in the mirror!" I threw my head back and laughed. She lolled and gasped and made all sort of strange noises. But otherwise, her response was rather dull.

"Ehe." I shrugged, standing.

"Daniel will appreciate my work, I'm sure."

And oh, he did! He did! He screamed and screamed and screeeeeeeeeeeamed, and I laughed and laughed and laughed some more. And then I buried a meat clever in his throat.

And now here I am, back in Gotham. If Sherry somehow survived the shock to her heart and the loss of blood, I feel certain she'll go on to lead a much healthier, contented lifestyle! As for me, I once again am in search of the Bat. I can't wait to share with him my further adventures! He'll be so jealous, I know.


End file.
